


A Nightingale's Lullaby

by thechemicalgirl



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Apologies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Love Confessions, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, This is all painfully tender, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:48:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22794247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechemicalgirl/pseuds/thechemicalgirl
Summary: '"Thank you for saving me," Jaskier mumbles, everything still and quiet around them except for Roach's occasional snorts. He tilts his head sideways, until it gingerly hits Geralt's shoulder."That's my job," the witcher huffs against Jaskier's hair, a helplessly fond smile still tugging at the corners of his lips. Maybe it's a good thing the bard can't see his face right now."or 3 times Geralt comforts Jaskier and that one time he offers more than just comfort.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 16
Kudos: 794





	A Nightingale's Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone,  
> Quick note before you start reading, this is a fanfiction I wrote when I was supposed to work on a different Geralt/Jaskier story, but this idea constantly haunted my dreams and here is the finał product! I hope you will enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing this.  
> Let's all shorten the wait for Season 2 with some fanfiction, right?

1.  
Geralt has been watching Jaskier strumming his lute for a while now, sitting barely a few meters away from him. The bard's eyes are closed, his expression pleasantly relaxed, almost blissful, the rays of late afternoon sun illuminating him with a soft, golden glow. He seems perfectly content, which makes Geralt furrow his eyebrows slightly and wonder - he's warned Jaskier about the forest being very dangerous, but the man obviously disregarded it with a mere shrug and insisted on following him ("I need to see everything for myself! My ballad won't ever be a masterpiece if I only listen to your monosyllabic tale, Geralt."), so he doesn't have any other choice than to deal with his cheerful companion during the hunt. It isn't that bad, if he's being fully honest, but he would rather let the wyvern he is hunting tear him apart than admit it out loud.

Jaskier stops humming for a brief moment and Geralt immediately turns towards him again, concerned. It isn't usual for his friend to not make any sort of noise for longer than absolutely necessary, let alone shut up of his own accord. Jaskier's pale face only confirms his speculations; something is definitely wrong. The bard meets Geralt's eyes, and there is a wordless plea hidden behind his panicked gaze. He points at the nearby bush with a shaking finger, which causes the witcher to quickly stand up and reach for his silver sword, ready to fight whatever creature is hiding from them.

"Jaskier," he growls, voice low and measured. "I need you to move away from there very slowly."  
The younger man nods stiffly, visibly holding his breath as he pushes himself up from the ground. He doesn't even get a chance to straighten properly though, because suddenly there is a flash of golden scales and a wyvern lunges at him, fast as a lightning.

Jaskier's scream is piercing and Geralt doesn't hesitate for a second before sprinting towards the creature, swinging his sword at its neck. The first hit is unsuccessful, his blade missing the monster's body entirely. The wyvern hisses, getting progressively more angry, but doesn't turn its attention to Geralt, instead focusing on knocking Jaskier down. Its maw is hanging wide open, long fangs dripping with venom and just barely missing the bard's arm when it tries to bite him.  
Geralt takes another swing at the beast and this time the sword reaches far enough - it cuts through the shimmering scales on the wyvern's back, leaving it screaming at the contact with silver. Some greenish blood leaks out from the fresh wound and the creature lets go of Jaskier for a moment, giving him time to stumble back and hide behind a tree.

It turns its ugly, deformed head to look at Geralt, and that's when he decides he has to get finished with it as soon as possible. He raises his sword right when the wyvern leaps forward to attack him and the blade pierces its neck with a sickening crunch, finally causing it to drop on the forest floor, twitching in agony. He knows the druids appreciate those monsters, even try to tame them sometimes, but he doesn't feel any guilt for killing it. It tried to harm Jaskier, it...  
Fuck, exactly. Jaskier.

He tears his sword from the creature's body, entirely covered in green, metallic blood, and takes a deep breath before calling:

"Jaskier? I killed it, you can come out."

A minute passes before he hears a quiet sound of leaves crunching beneath the bard's feet, his steps clearly hesitant. When Jaskier comes into his view he looks absolutely shaken, his expensive emerald jacket torn in a few places and hair dishevelled, sticking out in all directions around his face. He stops next to the monster's body and suddenly doubles over, throwing up until he has nothing else to empty his stomach of. Geralt scrunches his nose, the stench of vomit and overwhelming fear filling the air, but goes over to lay his hand on Jaskier's back anyway. The bard's heart is thumping hysterically against his palm, but the witcher doesn't comment on that, simply helping him stand upright.

"Hey," he mutters, unsure of what he wants to say. "Did it hurt you anywhere?"

Jaskier nods slowly, extending his arm and revealing a patchy burn above his wrist, probably caused by the wyvern's venom that has managed to drip onto his skin. It looks purple and nasty, and Geralt knows it will definitely leave a mark even after healing. He guides the smaller man towards the spot they were camping at with a hand between his shoulder blades, where Roach waits, watching them with curiosity in her dark, intelligent eyes. Geralt strokes her neck gently as he searches the bags for some bandages and medicine.

"I am going to clean the wound, alright?" he asks Jaskier, sitting him down on a lodge. "Does it hurt a lot?"

"It stings," the bard whispers, voice breaking slightly on the second word. He keeps his head down when Geralt spreads salve over his injured forearm, only hissing faintly when the witcher's fingers press a bit too hard. The air around him is still charged with fear and it makes Geralt's chest tighten with something close to protectiveness. It surprises him; he realises he cares for his companion, keeps an eye on him during their travels, but this is a different feeling, much more fierce and uncomfortable.

"There you go," he says, securing the bandages. No answer comes, so after a moment of pondering he adds: "Are you okay?"

Jaskier bites his bottom lip, hard enough to draw a drop of blood, and Geralt finds himself staring at it for a while, not sure if the sudden urge to wipe it away is as normal as he would like to believe it is. Then the other man shakes his head and exhales shakily.

"I really shouldn't have followed you this time," he whispers, trembling hands reaching up to grip his hair. "I never listen, fucking idiot…"

"Don't say that," Geralt growls, hot wave of anger suddenly rushing straight to his head, and he doesn't really know what makes him so irritated in the first place. "I didn't force you to stay behind like I should, thought I knew it was going to be dangerous, Jaskier. I knew it but I still let you come along when you pressed, this is my fault and no one else's. You can't possibly blame yourself for almost dying."

The bard's eyes are fixed on the ground as Geralt finishes talking, so the witcher hesitantly takes one of his hands, still tangled in his messy hair, and covers it entirely with his own scarred one. He supposes the gesture is meant to comfort Jaskier and it's definitely working to some extent, because the younger man lets their hands drop to Geralt's lap instead of violently gripping his chestnut locks. His long, bony fingers intertwine with Geralt's, and he finally looks up, visibly touched.  
"Thank you for saving me," he mumbles, everything still and quiet around them except for Roach's occasional snorts. Jaskier tilts his head sideways, until it gingerly hits Geralt's shoulder. The witcher wraps his arm around his lean back and lets him rest, trying to comprehend the new feeling of somebody's warm body against his chest. After a few moments pass, he finds himself smiling, and he can't control the urge to press his lips to Jaskier's damp forehead in a briefest caress. It feels like the only right thing to do at that exact moment, and if it can help Jaskier feel better then it obviously is right.

"That's my job, bard," he huffs against Jaskier's hair, that helplessly fond smile still tugging at the corners of his lips. Maybe it's a good thing the man can't see Geralt's face right now.

2.  
They arrive at the inn on the side of the main road about half an hour after the sun has set, exhaustion of a long travel settled deep in their bones. Geralt knows Jaskier is trying not to complain about the weather and his legs hurting especially hard, because he sees that the witcher's nerves are already strained to say the least. He appreciates it, but at the same time the obvious quiet suffering of his companion makes him feel guilty for riding Roach on his own for the bigger part of the evening; after all he has the impressive stamina of a mutant, while Jaskier's human legs are definitely much weaker. Now it's too late to make it up to him though, as they see the dim lights pouring through the foggy windows of the nearby tavern, clearly full of villagers seeking entertainment and good ale.

"Can you go ask if they have any room left?" he mutters, pulling on Roach's reins to stop her at Jaskier's side for a moment. "I will take her to the stable, she deserves some rest."

The bard nods, untying their money bag from the mare's saddle, shaking it a little to check if they have enough means to pay for the luxury of sleeping on a proper mattress instead of a wet forest floor.

"Don't we all," he sighs, adjusting the case protecting his lute on his back. "I could earn us more coin tomorrow, there is a couple new ballads in my repertoire I'm sure the audience will absolutely love."

Geralt shrugs, getting off Roach and encouraging her to walk by his side towards the stable. He has to admit that Jaskier's performances are always accepted rather enthusiastically by the locals, speeding up the process of finding a room to spend the night in or getting a second round of delicious frothy alcohol. There is something about the young man, the pure happiness he radiates while singing, that makes people clap along and cheer when he stands on a table to bow dramatically. Even Geralt can't resist a smile tugging at the corner of his lips when Jaskier strikes up 'Fishmonger's Daughter' sometimes.

He leads Roach to stand in the corner of the stable, gives her a handful of soggy oats, and strokes her nostrils for a moment before heading towards the inn's entrance. Once he steps inside, the strong smell of roast and sweat surrounds him; nothing unusual. He looks around in the search of Jaskier and spots him in less than a few seconds, his obnoxious purple shirt standing out among the guests' plain outfits. The bard notices him as well, waving his hand and smiling, gesturing for Geralt to join him at the bar.

"I got us a room for two nights, it's remarkably cheap in here. The owner asked me to perform later tonight, he offered to cut the price even more!" Jaskier says when the witcher settles on a stool next to him. "I was really tired to be honest, but the ale is delicious and I think this place needs some of my lyrical genius."

"Fine, you can come down later," Geralt mutters, rolling his eyes. "We should change and rest for a while first."

Jaskier pouts slightly, his already youthful face turning ridiculously child-like, cheeks puffed and a faint blush blooming on his pale skin. Geralt raises his eyebrows pointedly and the bard stands up, fiddling with the keys to their room. They walk through the room trying not to bump into drunk villagers, shoulders brushing, and Geralt suddenly realises that this is the most comfortable he's felt in a long time.

***

They strip off their dusty clothes and change, Jaskier showing a bit of reason for once and settling for a white shirt instead of his usual flashy stuff. He must be awfully tired, but he doesn't show it - Geralt wouldn't have picked up on it if not for the fact that he can smell his friend's exhaustion all over the room.

"Do you want to sleep?" he asks hesitantly, watching Jaskier's hunched back. "You can take the bed, I was going to draw a bath first anyway."

The bard shakes his head, reaching for the lute case and patting Geralt's tense arm on his way to the door.

"No, I promised the innkeeper that I would perform! We are staying two nights here so I'll have plenty of time to rest," he chatters before walking out, leaving the witcher standing in the middle of the room, conflicted.

He wanted Jaskier to stay, lay down next to him and maybe even wrap an arm around his lithe waist, something he hasn't done for a long while now during their travels, but his companion is as elusive as an exotic bird. Geralt sighs and moves to lay down on the bed, the mattress blissfully soft against his fraught muscles. It miraculously takes only a few minutes for his eyelids to become heavy, and he falls asleep with his hand clenched into a fist against his chest.

***

He wakes up abruptly, feeling anxious, a stench of fear hanging heavily in the air. He scans the dim room, his golden eyes registering every shadow and movement, and frowns when he notices that the big washtub in the corner has been filled with steaming water. There is someone bathing - definitely Jaskier, but his posture reveals that there is something very bad going on. Geralt stills completely, barely breathing, and after a moment he hears a desperate sob coming from the bard, which causes him to swing his legs off the bed in one swift motion. He walks towards the washtub, and his heart misses a beat when Jaskier quickly ducks his head underwater after realising that he's woken up.

"Jaskier," he rasps out once the younger man emerges to take a breath, more confused than ever. "What happened?"

Jaskier shakes his head, his entire body trembling with suppressed emotion. Geralt reaches out to slowly run his fingers through the bard's wet locks, massaging his scalp in a comforting way. He's got better at dealing with his companion's mood swings over the years; he knows when to leave him alone and when to gently touch him until he calms down. It has never been this sudden and intense though, and Geralt can't stop his chest from tightening with worry.

"Jaskier please, talk to me," his voice is barely above a whisper, and the man finally turns to look at him, his cornflower blue eyes wide. He looks horrifically small, and Geralt quickly kneels in front of the tub. "Can I do anything for you?"

"I was performing downstairs and saw a man I once knew," the bard mutters, hanging his head down. "When I was younger I stayed near this village. He was drinking in the tavern where I decided to stop... we talked for a while and then went to his room."

Geralt waits patiently for him to continue, but it doesn't come, so he wraps his arms around Jaskier's shoulders.

"We were going to sleep together, but I started feeling dizzy and told him to stop," Jaskier chokes out after a long moment, leaning his forehead into the crook of Geralt's neck, his breath hot and shaky against the witcher's skin. "But he didn't."

Geralt presses him tightly to his chest, not caring about his shirt getting wet. He would have never guessed that something this terrible happened to Jaskier, the most cheerful and confident person he's ever known. He wants to kill the fucking bastard that dared to lay a finger on his bard; maybe he will, but now all he can think about is the sobbing man he's holding.

"You should get out of the bath," he offers. "The water is getting cold."

Jaskier nods frantically, but his hands keep gripping the back of Geralt's shirt with all his strength, clearly afraid to let go. The witcher pulls back carefully, trying to look at his face.

"Come on, you need to sleep."

Jaskier nods again, this time actually standing up and wrapping himself in a towel that Geralt offers. He is unnervingly tense the entire time he gets dressed, hands shaking when he tries to put his shirt on.  
Geralt watches for a few seconds before gathering all his courage, and stepping closer to take over the task - his fingers work quickly as he does the rest of the buttons up, leaving Jaskier a little flushed.  
"I could've done this myself," he mumbles, but there is no real heat behind his words.  
Geralt snorts, reaching out to grab his hand and lead him towards the bed.

"Of course, but it would have taken you the whole night."

His heart fills with indescribable fondness when Jaskier lifts one corner of his mouth shyly.  
If he stays up hours after they've settled under the covers, the bard's head resting heavily on his chest, and watches him carefully, promising himself to always protect him, then well... It's not like anyone has to know about it.

3.  
Geralt is absolutely sure he's going insane.  
The fog on the way down the steep mountain path disturbs his vision, even his witcher senses not being much help in the midst of the thick, milky curtain. He wishes he could stop imagining Jaskier following the same track, desperately trying to find Roach, grasping the branches of nearby bushes when the ground turned especially stony under his feet. What if something happened to him? Fuck, he could have been attacked by bandits, or a wild creature. He could have lost his balance and fallen down the cliff. He could have stumbled upon Yennefer who obviously hated him with great passion, and gods only know how that encounter could end.

The mountains were incredibly dangerous and unforgiving, only experienced hunters could survive travelling through them alone for longer than one day. Jaskier was put in mortal danger because of his selfishness, and it is something Geralt knows he will never forgive himself.

He sighs in relief when he notices the fog getting thinner, and after a few more meters Roach comes into his view, still tied to a tall ash tree where he's left her. He strokes her soft mane, offering two sugar cubes on his open palm and checking for any signs of Jaskier's presence around the place. It feels like an icy cold hand suddenly starts gripping his heart when he observes that the bard's lute is gone, as well as one of the moneybags that was previously tied to Roach's saddle.

"Did Jaskier say goodbye to you, girl?" he mutters, the mare's eyes boring into his forehead intently. "I hope you are well-rested, I'm afraid there is a long road ahead of us."

Roach obviously doesn't answer, but there is a deep understanding in her dark eyes, perhaps even pity. Geralt knows he doesn't deserve any pity after what he has done though - the moment he blamed Jaskier for all his burdens keeps flushing through his head over and over again, like a foully elaborate torture method. Yes, he was frustrated and exhausted after the dragon hunt and his fight with Yennefer. The bard chose to open his mouth at the worst possible moment, but nothing could justify what Geralt said to him. If he could go back in time, he would've gathered Jaskier in his arms and shut him up with a kiss on his forehead, something that always seemed to be working. The thing is, he can't. He has to live with the knowledge that he absolutely tore Jaskier's confidence apart, possibly losing his trust forever and making him miserable.

"We have to find him," he tells Roach once he is comfortably sitting in the saddle. "He couldn't have gone too far."

He thinks about what Jaskier's told him a while before Geralt sent him away, when they were watching the stunning sunset together. 'Sounds like something Borch would say, right? Life is short. Do what pleases you while you can'. And then: 'I'm just trying to work out what pleases me'. The witcher pretended not to notice the way Jaskier's eyes involuntarily took him in for a brief moment, and it wasn't like he couldn't point out the faint smell of concern and desire filling the air. He isn't sure why he didn't simply agree; to hell with all the dragons, sorceresses and puffy dwarfs, they could have left everything behind.

Maybe destiny truly began getting into his way after all, but this thought bothers Geralt a lot. Not only has he never believed in its existence, it would also mean that if it was destiny's work, it didn't want him and Jaskier to end up together.

He shakes his head, trying to get rid of the ridiculous nagging voice, one that's convincing him it was meant to happen. If he knows one thing for certain, it's that he was never supposed to hurt Jaskier, it was just too cruel, too detrimental. Destiny couldn't possibly anticipate that from him, and if it did, then he doesn't want anything to do with it. Finding Ciri was his obvious goal, but first he had to apologize to the bard and nothing could stop him from doing so.

Him and Roach are still riding through the forest, but his sensitive ears detect the first sounds that are definitely not coming from among the trees. People cheering, some cursing, typical noise of locals having fun in the tavern. Geralt urges Roach to break into canter, hoping that Jaskier has decided to stop in the first village on the way back from the mountains. There is a great chance he is right, but he also suddenly realises that he actually has no idea where the bard is heading to. What if he took a different turn on a fork in the road halfway through the forest? Gods, let him be there, healthy and singing in his best enthusiastic tenor.

He pulls on Roach's reins as they reach the destination, which appears to be a rather small, brick-built inn with a stable nearby. He can hear voices from the inside, mostly male, but to his disappointment there is no clapping or chanting.

Once he walks inside after leaving his mare at the stable, it becomes clear that fate is on his side that night - he instantly spots Jaskier sitting at the bar, his red jacket covered in mud and dust, lute case carelessly propped up on his leg. He is talking to the barman, voice bitter and words merging into one another from what Geralt can tell, but the distance between them is too big to be sure. He doesn't pull the hood of his cloak down yet, walking towards the bar and sitting on the stool close to the bard. He knows that he will be recognised by villagers the moment he reveals his face, and he can't risk Jaskier running off.

"I've noticed you carry a lute," the barman tells Jaskier, who, from up close, appears to be completely drunk. "Could you play something later?"

The smaller man laughs loudly, but there is no real humour behind it.

"People want entertainment, not heartbreak," he mumbles, refilling his mug with ale.

The barman raises his eyebrows.

"Somebody broke your heart?"

Jaskier shrugs and leans his head forward until it rests on his forearms, his whole posture radiating exhaustion and defeat. Geralt decides he's had enough and gets up, walking over to his friend and the barman, black hood falling down and exposing his white hair.

A few people gasp, pointing at him and muttering: 'It's the witcher!" under their breath. Jaskier probably hears them, because he lifts his head, and his bloodshot eyes immediately land on Geralt's face.  
"I am more drunk than I thought, fuck," he slurs, trying to stand up. "I can't believe that of all things I'm seeing you."

Geralt reaches out just in time to stop him from tripping over his lute and falling flat on his face. His hand lingers on Jaskier's chest before he lets go, picking up the instrument instead. He nods at the barman and asks:  
"Has he paid for a room already?"

The broad-shouldered man watches him carefully for a moment.

"Yes, came here two hours ago, all dirty and battered. Do you know him? Poor guy talked about how lonely he was the whole evening."

Geralt's heart thumps against his chest almost painfully when Jaskier leans against his arm, unable to stand on his own shaky legs.

"He is my friend," he explains shortly. "I will help him get to his room, he would probably break something on his own."

The barman chuckles and hands Geralt a silver key.

"Upstairs, second door on the left."

Dragging Jaskier and his lute up the stairs is pure torment, but the witcher doesn't complain, savouring the feeling of the bard's heat and the sound of his quick heartbeat. He though he has lost it all irretrievably.

They stumble into the room about ten minutes later, Jaskier literally throwing himself into the rumpled sheets when Geralt releases the grip on his waist. His voice is muffled by a pillow when he speaks:  
"You can disappear now, I know it's all in my head. I need to let go of you, but it's kind of hard after this amount of alcohol."

The older man rolls his eyes, moving to sit on the mattress and smooth the shirt on Jaskier's back down with his hand.

"It's really me," he mutters, allowing his fingers to rest at the nape of the bard's neck. "I had to find you and apologize."

Jaskier turns gracelessly to lie on his side, watching Geralt with wide, unfocused eyes. He smiles a bit, but it's entirely filled with gentle sorrow.

"You're just proving me right, if it was truly you I would have already been insulted at least twice," he whispers, hand reaching out to grip Geralt's knee. "You feel very real though."

"And you are absolutely drunk."

"I am," the bard admits shakily. "I thought I would forget about you, but here you are, still in my head."  
Geralt furrows his eyebrows and leans down to press a kiss to Jaskier's flushed cheek, feeling strangely distraught. Does he really refuse to believe that he came looking for him that decisively? Does he think the witcher is incapable of offering an honest apology?

"Will you believe it's me if I am here in the morning?" he asks hesitantly, slightly worried that the bard might tell him to get out and never come back again, but Jaskier only nods, his eyes closed.

"Can you hold my hand while I'm sleeping?" he mumbles, voice breaking. "I don't want to be alone."

Geralt doesn't answer, but he instantly grabs Jaskier's hand and squeezes it with as much tenderness as he can muster. He doesn't let go until the sun raises, quietly praying for destiny to allow him to be forgiven.

+1  
"Gods above, what are you doing here?!" Jaskier shrieks the moment he opens his eyes a few hours later, the first golden rays of sun peeking through the curtains. His hand is unbelievably warm in Geralt's, and he struggles to break free from his protective hold for a moment. 

"How did you get into my room? Fuck, how did you even find me?"

Geralt gathers his thoughts before replying, careful not to stress him out more than he already appears to be.

"I came looking for you, and was lucky enough to find you in the first inn I laid my eyes on," he explains, keeping his voice quiet. "You were very drunk so I decided to help, but the thing is…"

"I can't believe you have the audacity to follow me after everything you said," Jaskier interrupts him, his expression angry and outraged, none of the previous night's softness left. "I am granting you your blessing, just... You should leave, Geralt. I won't ever cause you any more trouble, but you have to leave," he pauses, his breathing shallow and uneven. "Thank you for all the years you let me ruin, from my point of view it was rather pleasant."

"Jaskier, I came a long way to see you and apologize, at least listen to what I want to say," Geralt pleads, surprised when he finds his own hands shaking slightly. He can sense how hysterical the bard's heartbeat is, but he can't tell if it's caused by anger or some other emotion.

"Of course, more problems, you had to follow me! Not everything you do is right Geralt, it's about time you realise it. You can blame your mistakes on me all you want, but a day will come when it suddenly hits you - I actually tried to protect you from your fucking ridiculous hero complex," Jaskier spits out, abandoning any attempts to keep his voice down. "I tried to stop you from going into that building to save Yennefer, I tried to stop you from joining the dragon hunt, but you don't ever bloody listen! You are so full of yourself Geralt, sometimes I see why you don't have any friends really clearly. You simply can't notice when someone cares, because you don't care at all."

They sit on the bed staring at each other for a tense minute, before Jaskier sighs, shoulders slumping in defeat.

"I really thought you found me important," he whispers bitterly. "But I guess I should've known there was nothing good in this life for me. My own family disowned me, I was raped four nights into travelling alone, and now this... Someone who I thought was my friend has finally told me what he thinks of me. Truly splendid."

Geralt feels that he absolutely can't take it anymore, to hear Jaskier sound so awfully resigned hurts him more than any of the injuries he has ever suffered. He stands up from the mattress and sinks onto his knees, his medallion clinking quietly. The bard seems surprised, and there is an audible change in the rhythm of his heart again.

"I know you think I don't care about anyone," he mutters, not daring to look at Jaskier's face. "But I came to beg for your forgiveness, and I think this is somehow enough of a proof that I do."

Geralt pauses briefly before continuing, his voice becoming progressively more shaky: "And I have to tell you one thing, even if you decide that I am not worthy of your mercy. The moment I finished lacing into you, I instantly regretted every word I've said, because the truth is," he finally lifts his eyes a bit, meeting Jaskier's cornflower blue ones, and everything falls into place. "I love you, Jaskier. I have loved you for a long time now."

The air instantly stills, and they are surrounded in perfect silence except for the bard's heart beating even faster than before, like a hummingbird is trying to free itself from his chest.  
Then Jaskier suddenly stands up, so abrupt that it seems like he got struck by a lightning, and pulls Geralt to his feet as well. He frames the witcher's face with his trembling hands before rasping:  
"I am very tempted to kill you right now."

He looks absolutely serious about it, but thankfully he ends up kissing Geralt instead.

Geralt has never believed in destiny, but when their lips meet he thinks that maybe he was wrong the whole time, because it was definitely meant to happen, written somewhere among the stars since the beginning. Jaskier's kisses feel like breathing, or getting into a hot bath after a long travel, and he melts into them with his whole body. The bard's arms wrap around his neck and he immediately responds, pulling him closer, until there isn't any space between their bodies.  
Jaskier's lips are delicate and a bit chapped when they passionately move against his own, and Geralt barely stops himself from groaning when they move lower, kissing and sucking bruises onto his neck. He closes his eyes, somehow still afraid that it might all be his dream, only more realistic than ever.

"Forgive me," he says, voice hoarse and pleading. "I need you to forgive me."

Jaskier pulls back for a moment, his expression painfully fond.

"How could I not when I've loved you since the day I first saw you at the tavern?" he asks, tilting his head up and pressing a kiss to Geralt's forehead. "There is no need for forgiveness, but I need you to promise me something."

The witcher nods, taking one of Jaskier's hands and intertwining their fingers.

"Anything you wish."

"Alright, I want you to promise that you will always let me travel by your side, no matter where fate leads you," Jaskier speaks softly. "That's all I ask."

Geralt doesn't hesitate for a second before nodding, a smile beginning to form on his lips.

"I promise."

Once Jaskier kisses him again, he knows that he will keep his word no matter what it takes, even if he will have to fight against Destiny itself.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, thank you all for sticking until the very end. I hope you had some fun reading, I admit this is one of the rare cases where I actually think what I wrote is quite good, so hopefully I am not the only one ;)  
> Leave some feedback if you are feeling generous, truth be told - comments are the best, I appreciate every single one of them.  
> I am currently reading The Witcher series and I can truly recommend it, if you like fantasy then it's perfect for you. 
> 
> Finally, visit my tumblr @thechemicalgirl for some more Geralt/Jaskier goodness. 
> 
> I made up the title myself, but then found out that there is actually a song by Julie Last of the same name, and it's really incredible! Has some of that Witcher vibes in my opinion, so go listen guys. Thanks again,  
> Alexa xx


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